


Nailed It

by two_of_swords



Series: Thousand Followers Prompts [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, Head Injury, Life at the Barns, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Orla paints Ronan's nails, Prompt Fill, Ronan Lynch & Blue Sargent Friendship, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_of_swords/pseuds/two_of_swords
Summary: Ronan wants to protest, but he’s not in his right mind. He lets Orla lift his arm over her shoulder as she helps him up. It’s a good thing she’s so tall. This would have been a disaster if Sargent had tried it. He wants to make a snide comment about that fact but what comes out instead is “hey, I like your nails.”Orla preens. “This is how one of my fantasies begins.”





	Nailed It

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt fill #77 “I hate hospitals" - Sent by paintedpolarbear

Ronan should have known better than to mix the dream pigs with the natural ones. It had worked with the deer, but apparently deer are dumb. Pigs are smart. Too fucking smart. He should have also known better than to try to separate them again while alone. He should have waited until Adam came home for winter break in a few days, but he worried the pigs would kill each other before then. So it’s no surprise when one of the big sows charges him as he’s putting down fresh straw in the second pen and knocks him on his ass. The fact that he hits his head hard enough to black out for some period of time _is_ a surprise. **  
**

The next thing he knows, he’s sitting on the front porch steps, phone in hand, and the Fox Way Ford is pulling into the gravel drive. Blue and Orla scramble out.

“Ronan!” Blue calls.

“Sargent. What the fuck?” There are two Blues and he’s not sure which one to look at. His head is swimming. He’s only vaguely aware of a knot of pain on the back of his skull.

Blue misunderstands and begins talking fast as she rushes towards him, explaining that nobody else could come - Maura was with a client, Calla was boxing, Gwenllian was preparing for one of her “top-rated on Yelp for authenticity” Henrietta ghost tours. Orla was just painting her nails and was, therefore, free to help.

Ronan waves away her explanation. “Help with what?”

“You called.”

“I did?” That explains why he’s holding his phone.

Blue stops right in front of him. Orla lingers behind, ogling the idyllic setting. _Does Orla ogle everything?_ He thinks. It hurts to think.

“Yes, you did. You left a voicemail. All it said was ‘I hate hospitals’ so I knew something was wrong. What happened?”

Ronan tries to remember. He turns his head towards one of the barns, which was the wrong move, because he sways violently and barely suppresses the urge to vomit.

Blue gasps. “Oh, Ronan. You hit your head.” She reaches gingerly for the lump on his head and stops just short of touching it. “We’re going to the emergency room. Orla, help me get him to the car.”

Ronan wants to protest, but he’s not in his right mind. He lets Orla lift his arm over her shoulder as she helps him up. It’s a good thing she’s so tall. This would have been a disaster if Sargent had tried it. He wants to make a snide comment about that fact but what comes out instead is “hey, I like your nails.”

Orla preens. “This is how one of my fantasies begins.”

“Don’t be gross,” Blue chastises, as she wraps an arm around Ronan’s waist, offering what little support she can manage on the other side. “Clearly, he’s not thinking straight.”

“Yeah, you’re not my type,” Ronan confirms, as they half carry, half drag him to the car when his feet don’t quite work the way God intended.

“I’m well aware, but a girl can dream, right?”

“Do you want my professional opinion?” Ronan asks.

Blue snorts. Orla sighs dramatically.

The only thing he remembers about the car ride to Henrietta is how slow Blue drives.

 

Ronan wakes up in a hospital room full of dull, gray afternoon light - the kind that looks and feels like snow. Sargent is sitting in a chair right next to the bed, idly scrolling through her phone. He reaches out and smacks her ponytail. She jumps a mile.

“Hey! Quit it!”

Ronan thinks he smiles at her, but he’s not sure.

“You asshole. Are you awake awake?”

“I guess so.”

“The nurses come in every so often and wake you up, but you fall right back asleep.”

Ronan panics and tries to sit up. “Shit. I haven’t brought anything back, have I?”

“No. I don’t think you’ve dreamt at all. I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Some amplifier you are.”

“My defenses are up.”

She looks tired. How much energy does it take to keep people from stealing your energy? That was a problem for another day. A day with less head injuries. 

“When can I get out of here?”

“I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. I’m not family.”

“Yes, you are.”

Her face softens. “Not according to your records. They’re trying to get ahold of Declan.”

“Fuck the records.”

A nurse comes in and is very pleased to see that Ronan is awake on his own without their prodding. She leaves and brings a doctor back to tell him that he has a mild concussion and they want to keep him overnight for observation, but they fully expect to release him in the morning.

“Do you want me to call Adam?” Blue asks.

“No, don’t. He’s got exams this week.”

“Fine. I’ll keep your secret, Lynch, but when he finds out and gets angry, I’m throwing you under the bus immediately.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“Get some rest.”

 

A sharp, chemical smell wakes Ronan up next. He lifts his head from the pillow and glances over to see Orla sitting in Blue’s chair examining her fingernails closely. A bottle of nail polish sits on the rolling tray table nearby.

“Where’s Blue?” Ronan asks, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Playing Farmer Jane,” Orla says, bored. She blows on her nails. “She couldn’t wait to get her hands on that farm of yours.”

Ronan rests his head back down on the pillow. “She should watch out for the pigs. Some of them are bigger than she is.”

“She is awful short.”

“I thought you did _that_ already,” he says, gesturing to the nail polish.

“They weren’t quite dry yet when I had to come rescue you.”

There’s a long, quiet pause where neither of them say anything. Finally, Ronan mumbles, “thank you.”

Orla raises an eyebrow at him. “You want me to do yours?” She waves her fingers in his direction.

“No,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Suit yourself,” Orla says, but she turns and starts carefully digging through her bag on the floor. She pulls out another bottle of nail polish. It’s an inky, dark purple color, nearly black. “I brought a color you might like, just in case.” She holds it out for him to examine.

He reluctantly takes the bottle and watches the tiny metallic ball swirl around inside as he rolls it in his hand. “Okay.”

Orla grins and rolls the table over. She makes him place his hands palm down on the surface and then gets to work.

“Is this another one of your fantasies?” Ronan asks.

“Hmm. Not exactly,” Orla responds without looking up.

Ronan has no idea what that means. He doesn’t want to know.

“So…” She starts to say, glancing up at him as she switches to his other hand. “You’re in love with Adam?”

Ronan, who had been admiring her work on the finished hand, is caught off guard at first, but he nods in agreement.

“Is he the one?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he says, softly.

“The only one for the rest of your life?”

Now she’s pissing Ronan off. “Yes,” he says, fiercely and tries to pull his hand away.

“Hey! Careful! You’ll mess it up.”

“Stop asking ridiculous questions.”

She sighs. “I’ll never understand monogamy, but I’m happy for you. Truly. It’s obvious that you’re good for each other.”

Ronan has already thanked her once today. He isn’t going to do it again. So he just says, “I like it” and it’s true for both the nails and monogamy.

Orla beams at him. “That’s just the first coat.”

Just as she’s finishing the second coat on his last pinky nail, the door to the room flies open and Matthew bursts in with Declan close behind.

“Ronan!” Matthew exclaims.

Ronan could be embarrassed by what they witness when the enter, but he decides not to be. Blame it on the head injury.

“By the way, your brothers are coming,” Orla says, screwing the cap back on the bottle of polish.

Ronan flips her off with one of his newly black nails.

She laughs and gathers her things and waves as she slips out the door.


End file.
